Glass Houses

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Every teacher and student at Socorro High School in El Paso, Texas, and every student and professor at Texas Tech University.

None of you are in this book, but heck, if you can’t acknowledge your alma maters…!

You gave me the tools and the passion. Thank you.

On the day Claire became a member of the Glass House, somebody stole her laundry.

When she reached into the crappy, beat-up washing machine, she found nothing but the wet slick sides of the drum, and—like a bad joke—the worst pair of underwear she owned, plus one sock. She was in a hurry, of course—there were only a couple of machines on this top floor of Howard Hall, the least valued and most run-down rooms in the least valued, most run-down dorm. Two washing machines, two dryers, and you were lucky if one of them was working on any given day and didn’t eat your quarters. Forget about the dollar-bill slot. She’d never seen it work, not in the last six weeks since she’d arrived at school.

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